Once the rain has fallen, there is no going back
by sherlockismysuicidenote
Summary: He has to stop it, there's nothing left to burn. Just his responsibility to make it stop. Rated T for character death. TW: Suicide. Don't read if that might trigger you.


It was a completely usual Friday, in London, the cloudy morning was long gone and had given way to an equally cloudy noon. The weather was nothing special, and the strangers hurrying through the streets to prevent the upcoming rain from soaking them didn't notice anything unusual either. They would have, though, if anybody could have been bothered to look up towards the dark clouds hanging over the grey sky and the rooftops framing it. Because up there sat a lonely figure, legs dangling over the ledge dangerously, his previously proud posture broken by his hanging shoulders. Drops of rainwater fell from above him darkening his clothes wherever they hit them and mixing with tears rolling down the man's cheeks.

A mobile phone lay in the dirt next to his tights, the one last text already sent.  
_I'm sorry, I truly am. I messed this up, and now I have to correct it. I wasn't able to be good enough, so I'm doing the only thing that's left to do. Please, whatever you will do now, stay save. Take care. -yours, forever  
_Despite not knowing whether the message would be read, or just rot somewhere in the depths of someone's mobile, he had sent it, desperate for some kind of goodbye and a chance to apologise for something that wasn't his fault. It probably couldn't be considered normal, saying goodbye to the man who had gradually broken him down to this mess of human being he was now, but that was what he did, loyal until the very end.

It was raining properly now, water was not only running down his crouching form but also wetting the space underneath his clothing, down to his shoes, forming little puddles around his socks. In a moment of cruel, morbid humour he noticed that his brown shoes didn't fit the grey concrete, but he would be the last person to see the scene unfold anyway.

Slowly but steadily, the man realised that this would be final, the last act of a twisted game he never knew he was playing, without the chance of winning it. Games based on lies weren't meant to be won anyway; especially not if they were threading themselves through every aspect of the lives built around it. Through everything he had ever known, ever believed in. There was nothing to gain from continuing, nothing to win, just endless suffering and pain. Not the physical kind, not the one his body remembered but the one always present in his mind, lying heavily on each of his thoughts and actions; pain that was slowly and quietly eating him up until nothing of himself had been left. He couldn't make it stop, had tried everything from drugs over alcohol to trying to keep up a relationship. Nothing had worked, which had lead him to this situation, sitting on the wet rooftop, letting the rain soak him until he couldn't tell whether it was the water or a tear falling from his cheek.

Even now, at the very last moments of his life, his mind wouldn't be quiet, wouldn't stop reminding him why he wasn't at home, curled up in bed and sharing his body heat with another person.  
_Disappointment. Not good enough. Moron. Idiot. Insufferable. It wasn't real. Just put a round in your skull. I don't need you. You were never good enough._  
So, he really did the world a favour, here, on this rooftop. The thought didn't do anything to calm the violent sobs racking him though, shaking his whole frame. _Never good enough_. A lie, a mere lie to keep him from leaving had been the base of his life for the past seven years. _Just put a round in your skull_. His whole purpose had been to be part of a machine he detested. _I don't need you. _Nobody needed a man reduced the a mere plaything, a toy that didn't have its priorities straight. A man defined by his skills and determination. Somebody had taken the determination anchored deep within him, turned it against him to show how blind he had been all those years. But am empty shell of a man didn't have a purpose, did it? No.

Drawing a deep breath, he got up, slowly rising to his feet, taking the smallest steps possible towards the abyss until the wind was blowing around his toes, and looked down. There was nothing left, all feelings had been drained out of him, everything he had known, and left the rational core of a once passionate man, calculating how long it would take his body to hit the ground. A second? Two? Maybe two and a half. But it was just like flying, right? So it couldn't get any worse than it was now. Flying sounded pleasant, comforting even. And it really was, a wave of calm washed over him when he spread his arms and let himself fall forward, as if the air would carry him away. It didn't, of course, and his journey ended with a sickening crack and a dull thud echoing through the empty street.

Red blood was mixing with the rain, now, creating almost beautiful patterns on the dark grey pavement, sticking to blond hair and blue jeans.  
From a higher point of view, the scene really looked peaceful, perfect in its own twisted way, a scarlet halo surrounding the golden mess of curls against the concrete, being washed away with the rain ever so slowly. And being perfect, that was all Sebastian had ever longed for.


End file.
